


hurricane inside my skin

by crookedspoon



Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020)
Genre: Choking, Drunk Sex, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:47:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22822780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedspoon/pseuds/crookedspoon
Summary: It was supposed to be just a simple night of partying until she puked, but nothing's ever simple with Harley.
Relationships: Harleen Quinzel/Roman Sionis
Comments: 2
Kudos: 48





	hurricane inside my skin

It was supposed to be just a simple night of partying until she puked – which happened pretty early on in the game, meaning she could have stopped, but you know what? The pain didn't stop either, so why should she? The whole purpose of getting pissed was to numb it, and if she still felt like that time Mr. J had kicked her out of a six-storey window, she wasn't doing it right.

It was supposed to be one thing, but it turned into another. Figures, really.

For one, Harley doesn't do simple. If she did, maybe her life wouldn't be such a mess right now, but that's neither here nor there. You can't always choose how life treats you, but you gotta live with it. Or rise above it, yadda yadda.

For another, things rarely turn out as planned. See her recent break-up. _Her_ plan had been to stay together forever and create a perfect little family, complete with little rascally Harleys and Jokers. That's one hell of a memory she has to suppress if she wants to breathe right, because that particular pain squeezes her lungs something fierce.

And then there are those dangerous impulses that flip every plan on its head, because what would life be without a touch of spontaneity, a breath of fresh air?

Well, the air in this fine establishment is not exactly fresh, but air ain't what she's after.

"So the untouchable Harley Quinn is touchable again?" Roman asks, fingers several inches from her face as though struggling with himself or an invisible barrier.

It would be oddly charming if he were struggling with something – real or imagined – because it would be oddly human of him. And just to be clear, humanity is nothing anyone would associate with Roman Sionis. 

No, theatricality is an affliction of seemingly all the men in this business, or at least those at the top. It's what lets them get away with murder, literally and figuratively.

But tonight, she's on top, and she's not gonna let him steal the show. She scoots closer on his lap, grinding their hips together. The music has been turned off a while ago, but it's still tripping in her pulse. Her feet hurt, but she hasn't had enough of dancing yet.

"Why so shy, all of a sudden, Romie?" She grins, all loopy and loose. "You always had the money to pay for the goods you touch."

"Those, yes," he waves the idea off with the disdain only someone swimming in cash can muster so casually. 'But not for the gang war I would have started had I done so. They're terrible for business, if long-term investment is what you're looking for."

"Sounds almost like you're proposing to me, Romie." She lets cool fingers rest against his neck, soaking up his heat and the throbbing pulse that echoes in her body.

"You're getting ahead of yourself as usual, Quinn," he says, and finally, finally touches her, fingers her chin. "But I suppose we can come to an _arrangement."_

Harley didn't come here to fuck her ex's biggest rival in Gotham – he's not even her type! He's sadistic, cruel, and—well, okay, maybe he's exactly her type. Thing is, she's feeling lonely, and he's right here, and he's been waiting _forever_ to hurt her in the most creative of ways, at first to get back at the Joker, and then later to get back at _her,_ because she's every bit as badass as her former beau. Maybe even more so. She's certainly cost Romie more in property damage over the years, if only because she was inciting violence and not necessarily committing it herself.

Maybe what she needs is not to numb the pain, but to hurt in different ways.

"We can hash out the details later," she says and opens his fly. The purr of his zipper was a loud contrast to the hush of the abandoned club.

He probably has a more comfy space to be doing this somewhere close, but she's not here for the comfort. He can provide that some other way. She pulls her booty shorts and panties to the side and guides his throbbing cock to her cunt. Just rubbing herself against his hard length has made her unbelievably wet. He slides through her folds easily enough, but that doesn't mean she's ready for him. She hasn't slept with anyone since her puddin' broke—since _she_ broke up with her puddin' and her shorts are tight and the angle is funky. It doesn't hurt exactly, not in that knifelike way when she ain't ready at all, but it's still enough to know she's going to be sore for the next few days after this.

Roman doesn't make it better. Why would he? He fondles her ass, gripping it tight and shoving himself deeper into her. She throws her head back with a groan and he uses the opening to throw himself at her neck. It's vicious and she can feel her blood pounding against his teeth. No matter how hard she twists his hair, he doesn't pull off.

She's light-headed, swooning, and there's a crash of glass as he clears the table to place her back onto it. The gentleness he displayed in helping her lie down is at odds with the brutality of his thrusts. He caresses her hips almost reverently at the same time as he's pounding them raw. Still, she can't help but arch into his palms as they slide over breasts. One of them slides so far as to wrap around her throat.

Blood is rushing audibly through her ears, thrumming with the rapid beat of her pulse,and she finds her hips relaxing the more spots start dancing across her vision.

Lungs twitching and burning, she taps his hand.

"Details, Miss Quinn," he says, smiling pleasantly beneath bangs that are beginning to drip with sweat.

She could still kick him over the head and leave, but she's stubborn and she's feeling hella nice. That is, if she ignores how her head's swimming or how her stomach is being jostled by his thrusts, but for as long as Roman's choking her out, she's not gonna ralph. That may have been the initial plan, but the idea of hitting his shoes is not as much fun when he's edging her ever closer to release.

Her throat is straining against his palm as she's trying to make high-pitched noises of pleasure, but okay, if he doesn't want to hear them, that's his deal. But Harley would really like to have a little gasp of stale club air. She places her heel against his chest, and wow, she's a lot more wobbly than she would have expected.

Just in the moment she's getting ready to shove him back with all that's left in her, he grips her thigh with both his hands and plunges deeper into her. Sweet, sweet air rushes back into her lungs and she starts coughing from the burning intensity of it.

In the meantime, Roman groans and stills inside her, filling her up even as she's still being racked by involuntary spasms. And not the fun kind.

"Hey, what the fuck?" she rasps in righteous indignation. "You finished without me? What kind of scumbag are you? You can treat your staff like that, but not me!"

"I'm hurt that you think I'd want to end our little tryst so unceremoniously and so soon, Miss Quinzel." Going by the way he's zipping himself up and straightening his jacket, that's exactly what he'd planned on doing. "But if your own, dare I say premature, climax is that important to you, I can call in Victor so you can sit on his face."

"You sayin' you want to edge me?" she asks, rubbing herself through her shorts.

"Or we can end it right now, and you leave my club, never to return." He places his hand on hers, adding more friction.

"That's pretty harsh as far as choices go."

It sounded so much like something her pudd— _the Joker_ would have said that her mood slips out from under her, crashes, and burns. She's close to tears again. And she's not gonna cry in front of Romie. Though she might shed a few tears of frustration if he can push her that far.

Truth is, the last thing she wants right now is to be is alone and for the past – however long they'd been fucking – she hadn't spared a single thought about her ex. Nothing she tried had been that effective before.

"Okay, Romie," she says and pats his cheek. "I'mma play with you a little while longer, but first, let's hash out some details."

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "The Magic" by Icon for Hire.


End file.
